There was a morning when I was at my wit’s end. This was during the warmer months. I took a walk at sunrise and found my way up the blue trail at the base of a nearby spot known as Cobus Mountain. The sun was on its way but the temperature was already high.
I made my way up around and through the trails. I climbed the elevation and bled my sweat that drenched my hair and dripped down the bridge of my nose.
Continue readingI remember when I was young. I was bedridden with a stomach problem that caused me to be hospitalized. Keep in mind, entertainment was different back then. This was before cable television made its way into my household. Back then, all we had was basic television and basic television shows.
Continue readingThere will always be someone out there looking to take a shot at your dreams to knock you down and keep you from being who you want to be. And they do this to weaken your knees.
They do this to loosen your grip, so you let go, and so you slip and fall.
So don’t do it.
Don’t prove them right.
I see there is an issue with our interpretation, which is not to say that we are right or wrong. In fact, this is not to take a side at all.
All I’m saying is that we interpret information differently. You have your way and I have mine.
You and me, we have our way of doing things. And we have this for a reason. You have your way and I have mine because we come from a different background with a history of different experiences.
We come from different places and we’ve lived different lives. We also have different connections and different stimulation.
A word to me might be just a word, —but to you, that same word might mean something else.
And the moon was full. The air was cold, like the kind that makes your breath smoke when you breathe in and out. The farm was quiet and the hour was early, —it was the time before the rest of the world wakes up. I recall these early morning runs. I recall the moonlight beaming down across the pastures. I remember the mountains around me and the sight of the bog old red barn.
Continue readingThere is a place in our mind where we store our memories. We keep our experiences here. We store opinions here.
This is where we keep our regrets. We keep our hopes here and our dreams. We also keep our doubts here and our insecurities. We keep our emotions and feelings here too. We log them away like old files and store them for reference in case a similar situation should arise.
I stayed up for a while to watch the snowfall last night. I love it like this. The house is quiet. I can hear the noise of the hot water as it moves through the radiators.
The snow-covered ground illuminates the dull gray sky. And it’s nighttime. Everyone is sleeping. The roads are mainly empty and the world is mostly quiet.
I love it this way because there are absolutely no intrusions. There is nothing but me, the quiet, and my own true self. I don’t have to think or say or do anything. All I have to do is look through the window to watch the snowfall.
The problem with having a habit is it’s a habit.
And that’s it.
The body already knows what to do without needing any input.
The problem with being habit-minded is you’re habit-minded. To be any other way becomes unthinkable. And that’s the problem. The mind simply cannot conceive it living any other way. Whether the habit is smoking; whether the habit is food, drinking, smoking, sex, or whether the habit is working too much, sleeping too much; whether the habit is an addiction to say, emotion, depression, codependency or if the habit is based on self-harm, cutting, or any compulsion, which delivers a moment of gratification but the satisfaction is only fleeting, when it comes to the habitual mind, it becomes unbelievable to consider that life could be lived any other way.
Every so often, I have this recurring dream of a place from I childhood. I see this as a sign of change. I have these dreams when something is about to switch and either a new chapter is about to begin or an old chapter is finally about to end.
The dream I have is of an upstate place in a little town called Ellenville, New York. I went to camp here when I was somewhere about 10 or maybe 11 years-old.
I didn’t want to go here. At least, I never asked to. This was sleepaway camp, which meant I would be someplace with kids I didn’t know that came from from places I never heard of.
It’s not the pain you’re afraid of.
It’s not the tragedies.
It’s not the outcomes either.
All of them are predictable.
After a while, the pain makes sense. Throughout time, you become comfortable in your discomforts because at least these things make sense.
